by Iris Gower
‘Look, love,’ Fon said, ‘let’s just think about getting on our feet for now, is it?’ She was frightened for her husband. These men that threatened them were not ordinary human beings; it seemed they had no compunction in destroying anything that stood in their way. That they were a very real threat she did not doubt; and they would try again, for sure.
She knew suddenly that she had to tell Jamie about the note. But not yet, not until he’d calmed down a little and sorted out what to do next.
It was as though he’d read her thoughts. ‘The only thing we can do now is to sell the bull,’ he said. ‘The Black Devil will bring a good price at market.’
Fon knew what it cost Jamie to come to such a decision. The bull was a prized possession; it put him in a position of respect, as well as bringing in business from the other farmers who came to Honey’s Farm to have their cows served.
But facts needed to be faced; the bull cost a great deal to keep. The huge animal seemed to have a boundless appetite, and most of the time the Black Devil led a sheltered, indolent life.
‘We’ll all have some tea and then get ourselves cleaned up,’ Jamie said decisively. ‘We’ve rescued enough corn to serve our own needs throughout the winter, and later on we’ll carry what’s left into the barn nearest the house.’
Jamie forced a smile. ‘What if when we’re cleaned up we’ll have one of my wife’s fine breakfasts? A platter of bacon and eggs will set us up for the day, boys.’
While the men were gone to the pump in the yard, Fon put more coals on to the fire, rubbing at her tired eyes, impatient with herself for the tears that threatened to spill over. And yet fear raged within her, fear that somehow this vendetta would go too far, that she or Jamie or even Patrick might be hurt.
And there was always the spectre of failure, the fear that Jamie might lose the farm if something wasn’t sorted out soon.
Perhaps, she thought, she should go to see Bob Smale, talk to him, try to reason with him; it might help. But instinctively she knew she mustn’t even mention such an idea to Jamie. The last thing he would want was his wife lowering herself to ask help from a villain like Bob Smale.
By the time the men came in for their breakfast, her mind was made up. She would go into Swansea, call at the Cambrian offices, see what could be done.
She smiled as she ladled crispy-edged eggs on to the large plates she was warming on the hob. The bacon still sizzled in the pan, sending out a tempting aroma. The menfolk settled themselves expectantly around the table, looking clean and fresh washed, hair still damp from the cold water of the pump. It seemed that nothing, not hard work or near disaster, could rob them of their appetite.
It was chilly in the streets of Swansea, and the roads seemed busier than ever. Fon was glad she had left Patrick with Jamie on the farm. He grew tired easily since his bout of fever, and a cough still lingered, sometimes keeping him awake at nights. Fon worried about him, thinking of the way Katherine had died, a victim of the lung disease.
She pushed the thoughts away and glanced up at the sky between the buildings. The late September sun seemed to hang with a dull glow, obscured now and then with scudding clouds.
Fon walked towards the offices of the newspaper with footsteps that dragged. She felt a heavy sense of apprehension, remembering the way Bob Smale had attacked her. Perhaps she was simply being foolish, coming to Swansea to talk to the man; perhaps he had no better nature to appeal to.
It was suddenly dark in the offices after the light outside, and Fon blinked a little, trying to adjust her eyes to the gloom. She closed the door quietly behind her and moved towards the desk.
As she became accustomed to the change of light, she saw with a feeling that veered between relief and despair that Bob Smale was not there. Instead, a pimply youth with thick spectacles stared across the room, a pen poised in his hand and an impatient look on his face.
‘Yes?’ He spoke abruptly, his look indicating that she was disturbing him. Fon felt a sudden rush of anger; just because she was dressed in the simple clothes of the countrywoman he was daring to look down on her.
‘I want to speak to Mr Smale,’ she said, forcing down her anger and smiling as pleasantly as she could.
The man looked more closely at her as she drew nearer to the desk, and when he saw that she was young and personable, his attitude changed.
‘Bobby? He’s left the office this couple of weeks since,’ he said more kindly. ‘Can I help?’
Fon smiled at him and leaned closer, as though confiding in him. ‘I hope you can help me; I have to see Mr Smale on a personal matter.’
‘Right.’ The man opened a small drawer and withdrew a card. He winked at Fon and touched the side of his nose with his forefinger. ‘I shouldn’t be telling you this but our Bobby’s gone and joined the landed gentry.’ He handed her the card. ‘See, his place is somewhere up on Townhill.’
Fon felt herself grow cold. The only land not already being farmed was the acres adjoining the piece of land Jamie had bought from Tommy’s mother. She’d known it was owned by Bob Smale, but she didn’t know he was actually living up there. She’d imagined the old farmhouse was deserted.
‘But I didn’t know Mr Smale was interested in farming the place,’ Fon said. ‘I thought his work kept him in the town most of the time.’
‘Used to,’ the young man said knowledgeably. ‘But our Bobby has taken to the bottle again; a right little boozer he is when the mood takes him.’ He laughed. ‘That’s when I step in and take over the Cambrian. Couldn’t do without me, could our Bobby.
‘I don’t know what he means to you, miss, but I’d keep out of his way if I were you. He’s evil when he’s in drink.’ He paused and looked Fon over speculatively.
‘Bobby will never farm that piece of land; oh, no, that’s too much like hard work. No, he’ll just hole up there until his binge passes again and he comes back to the land of the living. God help that daughter of his, that’s all I can say.’
‘You’re very kind,’ Fon said. ‘I’m very grateful to you for your help.’
She made her way back into the street, and the sudden warmth of the sunshine bursting through the gloom brought her confidence rushing back.
She must see Bob Smale, challenge him to tell the truth, ask him what exactly it was he wanted. Perhaps matters could be settled in a reasonable way, without any more violence and destruction. And if he had a daughter living with him, surely Fon would be safe enough.
It was no wonder, she thought angrily, that Smale was able to strike at the farm with such good timing; he was probably watching them night and day from the safety of his own land. Why it hadn’t occurred to her before that his work in the town kept him busy for only a part of the time, she couldn’t think. It was all so obvious now; Bob Smale had wanted the land between the two farms for some crooked scheme of his own, and Jamie had thwarted him.
As she climbed back up the hill, she knew what she would do; she would try to reason with the man, but not without the security of a gun in her hand.
When she reached the farmhouse, Fon stood for a moment in the dreaming silence of the autumn day. There was no-one about; all the men, along with Patrick, were in the fields, it was so peaceful here on Honey’s Farm, so tranquil. But if she didn’t do something, it might not remain that way.
With an air of resolution, Fon picked up the gun and moved outside once again into the brightness of the day.
Gwyneth looked around her, glad to be away from the bucking and clattering and the horrid, gushing steam of the train. She was becoming familiar now with the Cardiff streets, and it was with ease that she made her way towards Bell’s Emporium. Once there, however, her task would not be so easy.
Fear gripped Gwyneth, and she took a deep ragged breath, trying to think of a palatable way to tell Will that she was carrying his child. But she knew in her heart there was no way to gloss over such news; it had to be said straight out in simple phrases.
Mrs Bell was moving about the huge e
ntrance with a watering can in her hand, bending over lush palms and pinching at them with arthritic fingers as though testing them for dust.
She looked up at Gwyneth, took in her workaday clothes, and approached her with the watering can held before her like a weapon.
‘What can we do for you?’ Her voice would freeze the sea to ice even on a summer’s day, Gwyneth thought ruefully.
‘I must speak with Mr Davies,’ she said, mustering all her confidence. ‘It’s business.’ She wondered if Mrs Bell recognized her; there was no way of telling, not from the woman’s stern expression.
‘I see. Well, he’s out to lunch, so I’m afraid you’ll need to call back some other time.’ Mrs Bell was about to turn dismissively away when Gwyneth spoke again.
‘But it’s important,’ she said. ‘I’ve travelled all the way from Swansea.’
Mrs Bell took in a deep breath through her nose. ‘Very well, he’s gone to lunch in the little restaurant next door.’ She looked disapproving. ‘But don’t keep him; he’s due back in just a few minutes and I don’t approve of unpunctuality.’
Gwyneth hurried outside and took a deep breath. For one awful moment she’d thought the old bat wasn’t going to tell her where Will had gone.
Gwyneth looked in through the window of the restaurant and hesitated. The tables were laid with gleaming silver resting on pristine cloths; the room was full of well-dressed people, and, try as she might, she could not pick out Will’s big frame.
Gwyneth’s stomach knotted and she gripped her hands to her sides as she suddenly spotted him. ‘Hell and damnation!’ She breathed the words, her whole being aflame with jealousy, for Will was with Eline Harries and his head was bent towards hers as though they were talking secrets, like lovers.
Gwyneth’s first instinct was to run, to put as much distance between herself and Will and the smiling face of Eline Harries as she could. Then common sense reasserted itself; nothing would be gained by running away.
She glanced into the window again and saw that Will was rising to his feet. He was moving Eline’s chair for her, and as Gwyneth watched, Will smiled down at her with such love in his face that Gwyneth despaired. How could she make him marry her, knowing he didn’t love her but was in love with Eline? Could she bear to make him unhappy for the rest of his life? Perhaps she should simply catch the train back to Swansea, leave Will to live his own life.
Gwyneth turned and hurried away from the restaurant, and she could see nothing ahead of her but a long tunnel from where there would never come even a glimmer of light.
As Fon was making her way across the fields, she saw Eddie waving to her. She stopped walking and waited for him to catch up with her. He looked at the gun in her hand and seemed, instinctively, to know what she intended.
‘I’ll come with you,’ he said firmly.
After a moment’s hesitation, Fon nodded. ‘I’m not going to use this’ – she indicated the gun – ‘but I thought I should take it with me, just in case of trouble.’
‘You know who’s been doing the damage and you are going to confront him,’ Eddie said, and it was a statement, not a question.
Fon nodded. ‘I have to try to talk to Bob Smale. He has a grudge against Jamie.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘Well, it’s a bit more than a grudge, I suppose.’
‘He must have!’ Eddie said. ‘To go to the lengths this idiot has, he must hate Jamie’s guts.’ He moderated his long stride to match Fon’s shorter steps, and she looked up at him.
‘What are you going to do?’ Eddie asked, and Fon found herself talking to him like a trusted friend. And that was what Eddie had become, she realized suddenly, a man she could rely on.
‘Bob Smale not only hates Jamie for the hiding he gave him,’ she concluded, ‘but he’s furious at him for buying the land from under his nose as well.’
‘I’m not surprised Jamie gave him a thrashing,’ Eddie said fiercely. ‘Anyone messing with another man’s wife deserves all he gets.’
Fon didn’t reply. She thought ruefully about her mother taking Eline Harries’s husband, not once but twice, and wondered what Eddie would have to say about such carryings on. Eddie was a gentleman, a real gentleman, Fon thought, and it was a great pity that he’d been unable to continue with his profession. He would have made a fine, compassionate doctor.
It took a good hour’s walking to bring Fon to the perimeter of the land Bob Smale owned. The acres spreading out before her were a morass of wild grasses and shrubs, good soil gone to waste.
‘Not a working farmer, this man,’ Eddie said. ‘He must have something else in mind for the land.’
‘What, though?’ Fon asked, puzzled. ‘What other use could he have?’
Eddie frowned and scratched at his head. ‘There could be minerals here, coal even. This is hilly terrain, might be good seams lying beneath the surface.’
‘Coal!’ Fon said in horror. She tried to imagine the land desecrated, scarred with slag heaps, dust flying across what was now sweet grass.
‘Might even be a prime place to build new houses on,’ Eddie said reasonably. ‘We won’t know unless . . .’
‘Unless what?’ Fon asked, looking up at Eddie in bewilderment.
‘Unless the old copies of the Cambrian might give us a clue,’ Eddie said. ‘What if we abandon our plan to talk to this man? I can’t see it doing much good anyway. Let’s just try to find out exactly why he wants to buy up as much of the hill as he can.’
Fon leaned against the warmth of a wooden stile and stared around her, as though seeking inspiration from the landscape.
After a moment, she nodded. ‘I think that’s sensible, Eddie,’ she said, ‘much more sensible than trying to shoot in the dark.’
‘Hey!’ A high feminine voice rang out. ‘What are you doing here? This is private property, mind.’
Fon spun round and saw a young girl riding towards them on a bay mare. Her hair, streaking behind her in the breeze, was a beautiful silver, rippling in waves like a moon-kissed sea.
‘Sorry.’ It was Eddie who spoke. ‘We were just out walking, didn’t mean to trespass.’ He was smiling, and Fon could see he was stricken by the girl’s beauty.
‘Why the gun, then?’ the girl persisted. Her brown eyes, huge and fringed with thick lashes, watched them both with suspicion.
‘Oh, just in case I saw a rabbit or two,’ Eddie said easily. ‘Live here, do you?’
‘That’s my business.’ The girl spoke abruptly. ‘Now, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll go right away from this piece of land.’
‘Why are you being so nasty?’ Fon asked. ‘What have you got to hide? We mean you no harm, mind.’
For a moment, the girl seemed nonplussed by Fon’s gentle tone. She rubbed her hand down over her bodice, not realizing that the act emphasized the young curve of her breasts.
‘It’s for your own good,’ she said at last. ‘My father isn’t here at the moment, but I know he’d object to anyone nosing about his property.’
‘Your father is Bob Smale, isn’t he?’ Fon asked, and it was as though a shutter had come down over the young girl’s face. Her large eyes suddenly wore a guarded expression.
‘Just go away,’ she said, at last. ‘Don’t you know a bit of good advice when it’s offered to you?’
With a quick movement, she wheeled the horse around and was riding away in the direction from which she’d come.
‘Well, what do you make of that?’ Fon asked, and then smiled as she saw Eddie’s pole-axed expression. ‘I know what you make of it all right,’ she said in amusement, ‘you’re in love.’
‘You know,’ Eddie said, as they set off back across the fields, ‘I do believe you are right.’
The next day, Eddie took time off to go to the newspaper offices and search out what was contained in the files. He dressed in his best suit, and as he stood before Fon at the kitchen door he looked to her for approval.
‘You’ll do all right,’ Fon said. ‘What with your fine appearance and
that posh voice of yours, they’ll let you see anything you want to see.’
‘This will help too.’ Eddie tossed the coins that Fon had given him the previous night. ‘I feel quite wealthy.’
‘I suppose you were used to having money before . . .’ She broke off in embarrassment, but Eddie simply smiled.
‘I took money for granted. That’s something I’ll never do again, believe me.’
When he had gone, Fon stood at the window, staring out into the fields. Tomorrow, Jamie would take the Black Devil to market, and with the money buy some winter barley and, more importantly, buy in some cattle for finishing.
With farming it was always a waiting game, she mused; you planned, you planted and, hopefully, you reaped. And you could do without enemies who burnt your crop.
Jamie came into the kitchen, his hair tangled by the breeze blowing uphill from the sea, his cheeks wind-burned. He smiled and took her in his arms, his hand caressing the small of her back in a way that sent shivers running through her.
‘What are you up to, colleen?’ he asked, his mouth pressed against the warmth of her neck. She put her arms around him, holding him close, her eyes closed as she listened to the beat of his heart.
‘Never you mind, Mr O’Conner,’ she teased. ‘You’ll know it all in good time. Just be patient.’
Jamie tipped her face up to his and kissed her mouth. Fon longed to cling to him, to tear off her clothes and make him love her; amazed at her reaction, she drew away from him.
‘Duw, you’re turning me into a real hussy! For shame on you, Jamie, kissing me that way, and it’s still daylight.’
He sat at the table and put his elbows on the scrubbed boards. ‘If you don’t like it, why are you smiling so happily, then?’ he challenged, his eyes bright.
‘Who said I didn’t like it?’ Fon placed her hands on her hips and stared at her husband provocatively.
‘Where’s Patrick?’ he asked.
Fon pointed in the direction of the parlour. ‘Having a nap in there,’ she said. ‘Why . . . ?’